Saturday, January 14, 2012

Christ, coffee and my Dad.

Bob and I have an argument every morning. Since having children I have become the type of person who opens their eyes and gets out of bed right away. Normally because Solo desperately needs his nighttime diaper changed, Marley needs help defeating the childlock on the bathroom door, Murphy needs to go out and both kids are starving from their long night of not eating. Bob is still the type who fights tooth and nail to stay in bed. 5 more minutes, I don't feel good, I'm too tired are a daily morning chorus for him. When he has a job I am more sympathetic. He has a sleep disorder, he is tired and stressed from working, he deserves 25 extra minutes of sleep. Since he is currently without employment I am about as understanding and sympathetic as a snake.
Once Bob made the piteous mistake while fending me off of saying "You could at least make me some coffee." This statement coming on the tailend of running the gamete of all those previous listed chores was not received well. Explosively I unleashed my wroth reply and slammed every baby gate and door in my path as I rocketed away from the utmost absurd and thoughtless thing I had ever heard that morning.
That was a few months ago. The memory of that particular moment still causes me a painful spike of rage.
Then this morning I was thinking about a story my mom just told me about my dad. Apparently he made some special arrangements and then drove two hours to procure some favored cookies for a coworker of his for her babyshower. Very thoughtful. Then I thought about other things my dad does that are thoughtful. There are many many many many examples of my dad's generosity of spirit and self sacrificing acts. Ask me or either of my sisters. The lists are long. This morning though one thing was boldface, it kept nagging at my thoughts.
My dad brings coffee to my mom every morning. When I first thought of it I then thought "I wish Bob would do that for me humph" but then the lightning struck. It isn't for Bob to be a Christlike example in my life. It is for me to be one in his.
Bigger than my sense of entitlement, bigger than gender roles, bigger than my interpretation of fairness is the responsibility I have to walk the walk in a practical visible way. Loving Bob (even when we're both unlovable) by serving him as Christ served his disciples by washing their feet. As Christ served us all by baring our sin-debt. Thank you Christ! Thank you Dad! Thank you Bob!

*edit to say: our morning fight always ends by the end of his first cup of coffee. :)